Page 2 of A Wedding in Tuscany

I shrug. ‘It’s your funeral.’

‘Anyway, I also wanna double-check the dates?I’m still looking at late October. I know you only have a week off around then, Cat, but do you think you can get some extra time off?’

‘Already on it. I’ve talked to the Head of School and it’s looking likely that she’ll let me go on half-term a few days early.’

‘Oh, cool.’

‘And even if Catherine cannot be there, I will.’ I throw Jean-Luc a stern look which he rebuts with a grin.

‘Awesome,’ says Josh. ‘Shit, she’s out of the shower. Talk to you guys later.’ He ends the call abruptly.

‘A trip to Tuscany will be nice, n'est-ce pas?’ asks Jean-Luc.

‘Yes,’ I concede, ‘it will. I’ve only been there for a minute-and-a-half on that bus trip.’

‘I am not sure that counts,’ he says, spinning my stool so I’m facing him.

‘It definitely doesn’t. I think we had all of six hours in Florence and I barely remember the surrounding countryside.’

‘That is the best part, the countryside?the fields of sunflowers, the towns, the castles. It is a beautiful part of the world,’ he says. ‘Romantic.’ Honestly, the public loos at Waterloo Station would be romantic with Jean-Luc. He’s like romance personified. He proves my point by leaning down to nuzzle my neck with his soft lips, peppering it with tiny kisses that send shivers down my spine.

‘Hello, loves,’ Jane calls from the hallway. Jean-Luc steps back, blows me a kiss, and returns to his spot at the cooker as Jane bundles in, laden with cloth carry bags. She dumps them on the floor.

‘Salut,’ says Jean-Luc, now wiping down the countertop?he’s a clean-as-you-go cook, another reason to love him?and that’s me and Jane.

I leap off my stool to help Jane unpack. ‘Bought out most of Sainsbury’s I see.’ I start pawing through the bags and extracting items of interest. Ooh, brie!

‘Honestly! What is wrong with me? Every sodding time! It’s all very well when I’m in the sodding shop, lugging the basket around, but when will I learn? It’s a stuffed-to-the-gills bus ride and a long walk back to the flat, Jane,’ she chastises herself.

I look up from the shopping and her cheeks are pink with frustration?or maybe it’s exertion. ‘Right, leave all this to me. Go and change and when you come back, there’s wine!’ I say brightly. She steps out of her ridiculously high heels?really, they must be at least five inches tall?and sighs. Sending an air kiss my way, she retreats to her room. ‘Thank you, lovely,’ echoes back down the hallway.

I do love living with Jane. When our former flatmate, Alex, moved out?because I may or may not have accidentally and drunkenly shagged him only to discover that he’d been madly in love with me for ages and thought we were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend but I didn’t feel the same way?Jane and I had planned on getting a new flatmate. But weeks turned into months and even though we’d both gone from paying a third of the rent to half, we actually preferred it being just the two of us. And of course, when Jean-Luc became a semi-regular fixture, I was glad we didn’t have another flatmate. That and being able to turn Alex’s bedroom into a guestroom-cum-study.

‘We are close, chérie,’ says Jean-Luc. ‘Set the table?’

‘Absolument, as soon as I’ve finished here,’ I say, moving things about in our too tiny fridge and shoving things in where they can fit. I close it and glance at Jean-Luc, his proud Gallic brow creased in concentration as he sprinkles fresh parsley over three plates of coq au vin. I may just have the most perfect boyfriend in the world. Why would I want to mess this up by moving in together?

‘Catherine. Catherine.’ Jean-Luc’s voice wakes me from a deep sleep and my eyes flutter open to see him perched on the edge of the bed, doubled over. It’s a jolt to my brain and I sit upright and scramble over to him.

‘Are you all right?’ I reach for the switch on the lamp next to the bed and turn it on. He recoils, squinting and turning his head away. ‘Sorry, darling.’ I rub his back as he groans, grimacing. ‘Are you going to be sick?’ He doesn’t answer but bolts for the bedroom door and disappears into the darkness of the flat. The door to the loo slams and I listen uncomfortably to my love being sick. Eventually, there’s a flush and he returns to the room, pale-faced, almost greenish.

He leans against the doorframe and runs his hands through his hair. ‘Food poisoning, I think,’ he says quietly. ‘Oh.’ He dashes back to the loo. Oh, god, the poor guy?now it’s coming out both ends. I slip out into the hallway and retrieve a bucket from under the kitchen sink and a wet flannel from the bathroom. When I get back to my room, he’s prone on his side of the bed panting slightly, his brow slick with sweat.

‘Here, darling,’ I say, laying the flannel across his forehead. His hand clasps mine as a thank you. ‘And I’ll put this here in case you need to be sick and can’t make it to the toilet, all right?’ I show him the bucket and he squints at it through the slits of his eyes, then gives a slight nod of his head.

‘Everything okay?’ asks Jane from my doorway. I see her eyes flick to Jean-Luc’s near naked body?he only sleeps in his briefs and the covers have spilled onto the floor?then they meet mine, concerned.

‘He’s sick. Food poisoning, he thinks.’

‘The chicken?’ she asks, her eyes widening.

‘Non, non, pas de poulet. A baguette from Gare du Nord, I think,’ says a weary voice from the bed. Jane looks visibly relieved and I have to say that I am too. Jean-Luc is the best cook in the flat and I’d hate to have to ban him from the kitchen.

‘All right. I hope you’re feeling better in the morning,’ she says. She offers a wan smile and leaves. It’s only now that I look at the time. 2:13am.

‘Do you want some water?’ I ask. ‘You’re probably very dehydrated. You should at least take some sips if you can.’ My mother’s voice echoes in my mind?for all her foibles, she’s always been an excellent nursemaid.

‘Oui, yes, thank you, chérie.’

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